


Yours

by lary



Series: Flashes [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Boot Worship, Dom/sub, First Time, Humiliation, M/M, Ownership, Slash, Under-negotiated Kink, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lary/pseuds/lary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Shrieking Shack didn't settle the power struggle between Sirius Black and Severus Snape. But something else did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours

 

 

**1976**

 

A school owl delivers the note to me.

 

_Let's see exactly what you are without your friends, Black. There is an unused classroom on the third floor by a troll statue. Meet me there at 8pm tonight._

 

I crumble it in my hand. Snape is sitting at the Slytherin table, staring at me. He smirks and mouths “coward”.

 

Blood is rushing in my ears. Fucking prick. Dumbledore can think whatever he wants, Snivellius and I have a score to settle. We'll see who's afraid tonight.

 

**

 

Walking towards the classroom, I believe that I'm prepared to face anything. But when I walk into the room, I'm proven wrong with a force that slams into me and steals my breath.

 

Snape and Lily are lying on a bed, naked and kissing, slowly, gently. They've clearly just finished shagging and Snape's holding her like she's the most precious thing in the world. They've obviously not heard me come in. Why Snape wanted me to see this, I have no idea, probably to report back to James. I know that's what I should be thinking about, but a black rage is building in me that has nothing to do with my best friend.

 

Hate wells in me like bitter poison, the way Snape has always managed to poison me, with his existence, with who he is. He makes me everything I hate. He makes me a Black. Cold fingers are clutching my insides in a deadly grip.

 

If he didn't exist, everything would be better. I raise my wand, pointing it at him. The magic is drawing up. My hatred flows into my wand, dark and thick.

 

I speak the words in a steady voice.

 

“Avada Kedavra.”

 

The green light hits Snape in the back.

 

I expect him to still, his body to crumble down, just like the last time I used the curse. The night I killed a house-elf, at Bellatrix's command, comes back to me in vivid detail. The small body laying on the ground, the expression on the his face frozen in place for all eternity.

 

But as the spell meets its target, it vanishes, while Snape keeps on embracing Lily as if nothing has happened. My wand hand starts to tremble, panic is rising in me, thick and overwhelming.

 

I almost jump out of my skin when a voice comes from beside me.

 

“Riddikulus! Expelliarmus!”

 

My wand flies out of my hand, clattering to the floor somewhere in the room. The bed in front of me disappears, along with the people in it. When I twist around, Snape is standing in front of me, fully clothed and unharmed.

 

“Well, Black, wasn't that an interesting display.”

 

“You-- what-- how?” At his mocking expression I snap my mouth shut. It takes me a few moments for it to click, and the realisation makes me dull. “Riddikulus. It was a boggart.”

 

“What an insightful observation,” Snape sneers. “Yes, your greatest fear. Which, I have to admit, I wouldn't have quite expected to be what it was. But it's certainly convenient. Even more so than your attempt to use the killing curse on me. Regardless of your status as the headmaster's pet, I doubt even he could prevent the ministry from effecting some minor punishment for attempting to use an Unforgivable on a fellow student.”

 

I feel all colour draw from my face as he speaks. The cold, black eyes are drilling into mine, freezing me on the spot.

 

“And now,” he continues, “now I own your pathetic arse. And what I want is you on your knees.”

 

“Wh-what?”

 

“You on your knees before me, Black.” All amusement is gone from his expression. “Do you need it spelled out for you? We just saw what you fear the most, and it seems it's all in my hands. I thought I'd need to do more work to pay you back for your little werewolf stunt, but apparently all I need to do to make your worst fear come true is to seduce Evans. And it's not her you're obsessed with, is it?”

 

“Fuck you,” I snap, clenching my fists. His eyes narrow and he steps towards me. I want to hit him, to shake him, to leave him lying on the floor, but body won't obey.

 

“Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?” he says. “But I'm not one of your little Gryffindor sluts, fawning over you like you're Merlin's gift to mankind. You're nothing, Black. You deserve nothing. I don't give a shit about what you want. I'm happy to walk away from here right now and never to be bothered by your presence again. I wouldn't lose sleep over you. I wouldn't spare you another thought.”

 

The unmistakeable truth of his words feels like being punched in the gut repeatedly. He continues in a low voice, “We both just saw what you fear. I'm not afraid of you, therefore you can't get what you want by threatening me or forcing me. But I can break you. Your choice, Black. You have one minute to undress and get on your knees, or I'll walk away.”

 

 _No_ , I want to say, but the word gets stuck in my throat until I'm chocking on it. This isn't what I want. I don't want him. But my body still won't obey my commands. There's a sense of detachment as my hands rise to my chest, opening my robes and dropping them onto the floor. Snape's uncaring gaze rakes on my bare skin, burning me with humiliation that makes bile rise in my throat as I kneel in front of him.

 

I hate him, God I hate him, the way he holds me still, unable to move a muscle, to get away, to fight, to do anything. And what I hate the most is that my cock is hardening under his impassive stare.

 

“Now you know your rightful place, don't you, Black?” Snape asks, in a voice that's cold and hard and penetrates me to the bone. “Now you know that this is the most of what you deserve, to be on your knees in front of me, straining for me, hard like a fucking dirty whore you are. I can do anything I want to you, and you'll take it gladly, won't you? Answer me.”

 

“Yes,” I choke out, because _fuck_ if I don't want it, want him, anything. My prick is aching against my stomach, and my gut burns with humiliation and shame and hatred and disgust – for him, for all he is, for all I am.

 

“You're such a whore for it, kneeling on the floor for me, right there at my feet where you belong. I own you now. That's what you want, isn't it?”

 

“Fuck...”

 

“Mine.”

 

“Yours,” I finally confirm.

 

He smirks and walks away, leaving me kneeling naked on the floor, alone and humiliated and so fucking aroused I can't think.

 

**

 

My legs barely carry me as I finally make my way from the classroom and through the empty corridors. It's when I pass the fourth floor bathrooms that I need to scramble inside, heaving over the sink without anything coming up. My hands clutch the sink. The image in the mirror looks, surprisingly, exactly as it did a few hours ago. I feel like the world has tilted on its axis. Nauseous, angry, horrified. Numb.

 

And loathing, strong and bitter, though I'm not sure if it's for myself or for Snape. I'm not sure there's any difference.

 

Yet some part of me is inexplicably pleased that he wants me, even if it's to have me kneel humiliated at his feet. And _that_ scares me shitless.

 

**

 

How the fuck did I end up here?

 

The stream of piss hits my chest with a strong, stinging stench, and I clench my hands into fists on my sides, pressing my nails in my palms. The urine soaks my stomach and waves of sick humiliation surge over me me, pulling me deeper with each throb of my dick, which strains for touch even as I fight the self-disgust and lust.

 

I swore to avoid him, swore to forget about the whole incident, but it only took another note from Snape and I was back in the same classroom.

 

The belt buckle clicks as he covers himself. “You may bring yourself off now,” says Snape. Gryffindor courage makes me raise my eyes to meet his as I palm my erection, and my breath catches at the naked lust I can see in his gaze. With that intensity fixed on me, it's only a few strokes until I'm coming, spilling over my hand.

 

And then he leaves me again, on my knees, broken. It would be alright if only it wasn't him. Wanting, Merlin, being _hard_ for a bloke, it would be alright, I could live with that. And even getting aroused by this kind of thing – this disgusting, twisted, deprived stuff.

 

Why the hell does it have to be Snape?

 

But all that I try to replace him with somebody else in my head, it twists deeper into my core, Snape's voice telling me that I'm his, over and over again.

 

**

 

By the third time, I no longer expect it to be the last. And it isn't. As time passes, the compartmentalisation starts feeling like the most natural thing in the world. There's the ugly git Snivellius, whom I mock mercilessly in public. And then there's the Snape who has this hold of me, who makes me want to belong to him, to take whatever he chooses to give me.

 

One really has little to do with the other, and if there are some moments where my brain tries to argue otherwise, I choose to ignore them. Because the first it just how things are, and there's no changing them. And the second... the second it doesn't seem that I'm able to give up.

 

 

**1978**

 

He doesn't need to say a word before I kneel down before him, naked, and lay my wand on my side. My eyes are locked on his boots, my cock hardening at the sight of the leather. It's far since become a near-pavlovian response.

 

When Snape walks away from me, I want to follow his steps with my eyes, but I know better than that. I stare at the floor, listening to him moving about, the sound of him removing his cloak and his steps on the stone floor. I hear him pour a drink for himself, and a quiet rustle of paper. I don't need to look to know he's in the armchair, sipping his drink, with his attention on the words of a book. Not on me, not until he decides so, and still I feel... content.

 

Anybody could testify that I'm far from a patient person. Yet while I kneel, time expands. I have nowhere else to be – there's nowhere I'd rather be than kneeling on the hard stone floor of the classroom we've started calling ours.

 

It's hard to tell, like always, how much time passes. All I know is that by the time Snape's footsteps approach me again, my knees are aching and the light coming from the classroom window is much less prominent.

 

“You may clean my boots, now.”

 

My cock hardens again as soon as I lean down and run my tongue along the leather of the tip. A low groan escapes me at the taste, the feel of it, and I lave at the material. Shivers run across my back as I hear his breathing come harsher. It's a high, being able to coax that reaction out of him, the evidence that he gets off on this as much as I do. Any shame trickles away with the heady rush, and I let the lust take over, no longer caring about the noises I'm making.

 

Suddenly he curses, and the next thing I'm being dragged up and pushed against the armchair. And then Snape's clothed erection presses against my arse. He's never before let me feel his arousal. I push into him, wanting it, him inside me. Even the thought makes me pulse with need.

 

“Please...”

 

“Merlin, you're such a fucking slut for it, aren't you, Black?”

 

“God, yes,” I admit readily as his slicked fingers breach me open, pushing in relentlessly

 

“Such a pretty little whore, whining for my cock like a bitch in heat.” His voice is low and ragged. It's drowned by my yell when his cock pushes inside me, hard and unyielding, splitting me open. Whimpers of pleasure-pain spill from my lips when Snape starts rocking into me with steady, deep thrusts, his hands finding purchase on my hips, holding me tight.

 

When he moans out his pleasure, it makes me come undone. He stays right against me for a long moment. I hurt inside and my skin feels like it's on fire and I couldn't care less if I tried.

 

Snape finally pulls out and gets up with a rare caress along my spine. Even rarer is the soft kiss against my chin. Without conscious thought, I turn my head into it, capturing his lips for the first time. He makes a noise of surprise, but my fingers tangle in his hair, not letting go until he responds.

 

His tongue tracing my lips makes me whimper. The feeling of his mouth against mine is suddenly more vital than air and I melt into his kisses for a long time.

 

 

**1980**

 

Snape, lying on his back on my kitchen table, naked and his legs spread open, is perhaps the hottest thing I've ever seen.

 

“I wouldn't have thought you'd ever let me...” my words trail off, as my fingers trail the skin of his chest, finding his nipples and teasing them into hardness.

 

“What? Top?”

 

“Well, yeah. You're always so in charge and--” The trail of thought is inevitably lost when he takes a hold of my prick.

 

“What I believe is that I'd like a good hard fucking and you seem to have the equipment for it.” He moves so that my dick is right at his entrance. “If you believe that means you're gaining any amount of control, you are sadly mistaken. Now, get on with it.”

 

Snape doesn't need to tell me twice, and as soon as I push into him, I discover how right he is. The tight heat surrounds me, intoxicating and maddening, and _the last thing_ I feel is in control.

 

“Fuck, oh, oh-- God...” Each thrust into him feels inevitable. Snape is open and responsive under me. My fingers splay on his hands where he's clutching the edge of the table. His breathing is loud in my ears. When he urges for harder and faster, I comply, though I have no idea how it's even possible.

 

“Not yet,” he says, a warning in his eyes, and I stop the impending orgasm, again with no bloody idea how, and pound into him harsher. My eyes are fixed on his, and I fuck him for what feels like longer than life and still not long enough, until he throws his head back and comes with a strangled groan, muscles clamping down around me. My shout is loud as I lose control, emptying myself into his body, into _Severus._ Fucking hell, the thought of it is enough to make me growl.

 

That night he's called. I pretend not to notice when he grasps his arm.

 

 

**1981-**

 

Azkaban.

 

There are no words to properly describe it, even if there was a person who for some insane reason wanted to understand.

 

The walls breathe dread and despair. The air is blackness of dementors, carving my body into hollowness.

 

It leaves my mind mostly alone, but only because it would be too merciful to rob me of my reason. I get to keep all my experiences – that is, the knowledge that they have happened. But they're ripped of any positive emotion, soiled into something unrecognisable, empty, ugly.

 

Memory of holding my godson only lasts two weeks – all it brings is regret and pain. Lily's beautiful smile erased forever, the laughing face of James wiped into nothingness. Too real, but it doesn't stop there.

 

My brain is only too happy to torture me with imagined reactions. In my head Remus looks at me, never smiling. “How could you?” he asks, over and over and over again. He doesn't hear my pleas. After two months he's gone.

 

Severus doesn't ask. He looks me with cold, black eyes, empty of all emotion, as he raises his wand and disappears in a flash of green light.

 

After that, there's nothing but the emptiness that still doesn't make me dull enough. Days full of despair bleed into nights full of nightmares until there's no separation between the two. I lose the track of time, and any reason to care.

 

All I want is to stop. For all of it to stop.

 

But it doesn't. What remains in me is the burning hatred for Peter Pettigrew. The traitor. The rat. My heart beats _death death death_ , and it sounds like boots on cold stone floor.

 

 

**1994**

 

The wind howling around me, the ground under my paws, the scent of Hogwarts.

 

_Death death death._

 

The first times I smell people I recognise, I believe myself crazy. It's not a difficult thing to believe. But I can't resist getting closer. Remus. Harry. Severus.

 

The pain is unbearable, but I can't. I can't blow it all, not after getting this close. Remus would recognise Padfoot, and Snape would kill first and ask questions later. Yet I still might go and find him, after taking care of the traitor. After all, it's what I deserve, for convincing James to trust Peter. It's more than I deserve, to lie dead at the feet of my once-lover.

 

But first I need to find him. Pettigrew. My teeth bare into a snarl at the thought of the rat.

 

_Death death death._

 

No, Peter's not here. But soon. Soon I'll get him. Soon it will be all over.

 

 

**1995**

 

We've always been shit at talking to each other. It's the same at Grimmauld place. It hurts, seeing him, being around him, with all that hate directed at me. Sometimes I think I see something else, too, but it's always too quick. And neither of us knows how else to act with others around. I reckon that's why we fall back into the hostility.

 

But I can't do it. I can't take it. I need him.

 

So, when I see the opportunity to get him alone, I grasp it, locking the library door behind me.

 

“Severus,” I whisper, as I shed off the robe and fall down on my knees. He looks at me in shock, for a long time.

 

“Go ahead, then,” he finally says, answering the silent question in my eyes.

 

My fingers tremble as I run them down his boots, and then I lean down to follow the same path with my tongue. The smell, the taste of the leather is heavenly. It's _him_. The need makes me ache. Heat pools low in my stomach, my erection straining and balls drawing up, until I'm coming without a touch, my face buried in the leather.

 

And then Snape's hands are on me, pushing me on my back. With a quickly cast spell he's pressing into me, his cock breaching me open, slowly, slowly. It burns. Nothing has ever felt better. Our moans mix into kissing and he rocks into me deep and hard. He's inside me and around me and everywhere.

 

I didn't remember it's possible feel this alive.

 

Afterwards, he lies on top of me, and I don't give a damn that both of us are sweaty and hot and sticky. It's like my body and mind are being held together by his presence. Only that's not the case, because suddenly I'm falling apart.

 

The broken, barely suppressed sounds morph into sobs that shake me. It's too much, it's all too much. Severus holds me tight, hard enough to keep me grounded, and murmurs softly into my ear, words I can't comprehend. Breathing in his scent, curling into him, I feel safe.

 

“It would seem that ageing beyond teenagers has done little to improve stamina for either of us,” Severus remarks after a while, startling a laughter from me. Another skill I no longer knew I had.

 

“Guess fourteen years is a long time to go without.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Wait...” I turn to look at Snape. “Are you saying... you?”

 

He holds my gaze, then nods.

 

“Holy shit,” I whisper, and then move to kiss him desperately. “Thank you.”

 

“You can make it up to me,” he says with a smirk. I can't stop looking at him, touching him.

 

“Anything you want,” I promise. “Yours.”

 

“I know, love. Mine.”

 

 


End file.
